


The Prime Minister and The Lost King

by NikkiJustTalk



Category: Merlin (TV), Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Downing Street, Endless fluff, Fluff, Kid Fic, M/M, Olympics, bit o angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-03
Updated: 2012-08-03
Packaged: 2017-11-11 08:31:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/476619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NikkiJustTalk/pseuds/NikkiJustTalk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Arthur Pendragon goes missing, it's up to the most important man in Britain, the world's only consulting detective, and the most powerful sorcerer in history to find him. (Adorable 7 year old Merlin and Arthur, adorable and confused Prime Minister and adorable Johnlock, just for good measure)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Prime Minister and The Lost King

Hmmm. ‘Hmmm’ was a good word, he felt, to sum up his general opinion on Petunia Surfina verses the Trailing Sweetpea in the vital issue that was his mother-in-law’s hanging baskets. He wasn’t entirely sure why he’d been asked, or why his opinion, above all others, mattered to the woman but ‘hmmm’ seemed to satisfy her anyway, and she stole up the plants with a dignified nod. 

It was his day off today. His one, lonely little day off that had been singled out on his calendar as if being judged by all the other meetings, events and diplomatic outings he’d had that month, looking down their narrow noses and reading spectacles at it disdainfully. He hadn’t really wanted to go to the garden centre. He’d wanted to go for a few rounds of golf, perhaps send a chuckling message to old Cleggy, wishing him luck on his day in the sun; but, needs must, as always, and he found himself idly wandering through the soil soaked trenches of the nearest Four Seasons, wrinkling his nose at the humid pollen stench in the air.

He was about to round the corner, hopefully to find his wife and drag her away for a coffee somewhere, when a nearby ‘STOP!’ made him, well, stop.  
One polished shoe still hovering inches from the ground, he shot back as a small blur in a blue shirt flung himself at his feet, cradling its arms protectively around something lying on the floor. The blur turned out to be a small boy, his dark hair messy and familiar to the Prime Minister as he laughed jovially; ‘Merlin?!’ 

The boy shot round suddenly, his small features pulled into a glare as he replied stubbornly ‘you should look where you’re going, Mister! You nearly stepped on the Alien Snail!’ 

Bewilderment clouding his surprise, he knelt down to Merlin’s level and enquired ‘the ‘Alien Snail’?’ The boy had his hand curled gently around a tiny, grey snail, with a patterned yellow shell sitting snugly along its back. The creature’s feelers instinctively revolved onto him as he approached, and the Prime Minister found himself suddenly under, yet again, the imposing judgement of an unhappy citizen of Britain. Only this one was a snail. That he’d nearly stepped on. Because he wasn’t paying attention. 

‘Well…’ he said awkwardly to the child, ‘that was lucky, wasn’t it?’ Merlin turned to glare at him once more, before scooping the snail in his tiny palm and setting it down gently on the leaves of a nearby shrub.   
‘Yes’ he said shortly; ‘it was’. And before the Prime Minister could utter another word, he darted off around the corner and back into the main shop, only stopping to let a little old lady coo at him for a moment before slipping through the door.

That had been the last time he’d seen either Merlin, or Arthur since returning from that fated hospital visit, or rather ‘visits’, and he’d almost forgotten them. As soon as he’d left the hospital, he did run a search on them, and found them currently in between foster homes, but they were designated to a home in London the following week. It had only been a few months since then, but Merlin hadn’t changed at all. Even his disheartening lack of parental accompaniment remained the same. The only thing different about this collision was the lack of a certain King of Camelot hanging off his arm. 

After returning back to Downing Street, he was instantly ushered into his office with a harried ‘It’s Mr Clegg for you, Prime Minister’ and ‘he’s waiting on a video call’ before his assistant ran a hand across his hair, straightening his collar as she pushed him through the doors. 

And so it ends. His one day of peace and relaxation flushed away with a loopholed law, or a raging riot or, whatever it was that Nick wanted to see him about. It was with a resigned sigh that he accepted the video call, and wasn’t entirely surprised to see a slightly flustered looking Clegg, enlarged in a projection on his wall, his tie hazardously off-center.  
‘Evening Nick’ he began ‘how may I…’   
‘Sorry to bother you about this, David, but it’s just, the cabinet re-shuffle’s coming up and with those new adoption plans you wanted put through…well, basically there’s been some cock up with administration and I haven’t actually got the legal authorisation to sign for them, so er, well we either need you to sign for them, or you can sign the papers allowing me to sign for them?’ 

Fantastic. The deadline for the adoption deal was two days away, and they’d finally gotten word back from T.A.C.T last week and now all they had to do was sign the bloody papers, fax them off and be done with it. He sighed again. ‘Ok, fax them over as soon as. I’ll have Sophia print them out and sorted by tomorrow morning.’   
‘Appreciate it. Oh, how was the day off, by the way? Any good?’   
The Prime Minister glanced up at the screen.  
‘Fabulous’ he replied and closed the conversation. 

It was later that evening when he’d finally gotten the knock on his door to find a large stack of papers on stick thin legs and a black pencil skirt wobbling precariously outside. It turned out that whilst T.A.C.T had, in all fairness to them, signed everything they were required to, the branded stamp used must’ve been low on ink as David was now faced with page after page of T.A.C. He was tracing over the final T when the phone rang. And then the office bell buzzed. And then 5 suited and booted men strode into the Cabinet room with the hideous purpose of going over his proposal one last time; ‘just to make sure’. And then his assistant walked in, carrying not a streaming mug of tea, but a tiny cup of black coffee, intended to keep him up all night if need be.  
Then there was a lot of shuffling of papers, clearing of throats and jolly good chit chat whilst the Prime Minister downed the shot and mentally shook himself, steeling his head for the long night in front of him. And then the door burst open.   
And then Merlin was crawling between the Governor of State's legs. And then so was his body guard. And the Prime Minister thought he’d had quite enough coffee for one evening. 

()()()

‘Mr…Mr Cameron! Sir! Please, I…I need your help!’ Merlin panted, as he darted between various towering politians and scuttled underneath the wooden desk to in his quest to reach him. Blinking away the vain hope that this might all just be a horrific hallucination, David ran a weary hand through his hair, and ducked to join Merlin under the desk. The child was crouched, panting and red faced as he looked the Prime Minister directly in the eye and stated desperately ‘I need your help’.   
And then he was yanked out by the back of his T-shirt and thrown up, yelping, into the arms of Percival, his enormous but entirely kind hearted bodyguard.  
‘Wait! Percy, let him down a minute, I know who he is!’   
He turned awkwardly to the bewildered gentlemen at the other side of the room; ‘I…er…apologise for this interruption, but I’m afraid council is finished for this evening. I feel I’m going to be busy with this one for quite some time.’ 

They had grumbled, and mumbled and seemed to spend an awfully long time closing briefcases; and, considering the fact that these are people with constantly pre-planned expressions, doing an awfully bad job of pretending not to be interested in the little boy, glaring at them from behind Percy’s hold. When they’d eventually dwindled out of the room, closing the door behind, the Prime Minister only had a few seconds to prepare himself before ‘I need your help’ spoke up again. 

‘Yes, so you keep saying’ he replied, only slightly past the point of patience; ‘but what is it you need help with?’   
Merlin’s expression shifted slightly and he drew a bitten thumbnail into his mouth awkwardly before whispering ‘I did something bad.’   
Catching Percy’s eye, the Politian crouched down to sit on his haunches, clasping his hands in front of him. ‘And what was that?’ The little boy’s chin wobbled and his shoulders started to shake as he said ‘I lost Arthur!’ and started to cry. 

‘You lost Arthur? You mean…at, at the Garden Centre today?’ he ventured. ‘No!’ Merlin replied crossly, a steady stream of tears coursing down his cheeks; ‘He was there at the Garden shop, but…’ ‘…but?’ He looked cautiously at the Prime Minister for a second, and then at Percy, as if wondering whether he could possibly trust these men with the important and horrific transgression he had obviously committed.  
‘I shouted at him. And he didn’t like it.’ This time it was the body guard who sat down next to the little boy and said in an almost sickeningly sweet tone; ‘Well that’s ok. Everyone’s allowed a shout now and again, I mean, I shout at my friends sometimes too, but they’re still my friends’. He smiled encouragingly at Merlin, who did nothing but frown at him in confusion; a look almost identical to the one Arthur had given the Prime Minister when he’d asked if the child had a poorly tummy. Sympathetic tones clearly did not work on these children. 

‘Yes’ Merlin began slowly, as if he was the one talking to small child, rather than Percy ‘but I’m not friends with your friends. I’m friends with Arthur’. Yet again, the familiar urge to run away and start a new life as Barack Obama’s personal shoe shiner reared its hopeful head, as the Politian asked ‘So you shouted at Arthur, then what?’ ‘Um…then he ran away.’ Merlin had started to cry again, tiny fingers curled tightly around the hem of his shirt.  
‘And then you ran away? To find him?’ Percy supplied. 

Baleful eyes glanced up at the bodyguard; ‘yes, but I can’t find him! He runs really fast, and I thought he was going to come back! So I told mummy that he was playing in the garden with Aithusa, but then she told me to get him for tea, and I thought he might be hiding in the bushes like he normally does, but I looked and he wasn’t there, and he left his sword behind! How’s he going to fight off the monsters without his sword? He needs his sword!’   
The little boy was sobbing, his arms flapping in panic at his sides as he continued; ‘And…and then’ he gulped ‘and then I tried to go into the street, but daddy caught me and told me I shouldn’t but, but then I kicked him and ran out anyway, and then I ran all the way into London, and people kept looking at me, and then I saw your face on one of those poster things and Arthur had told me you were really nice, and good at helping people, and…’ his voice trailed off into hiccupping sobs before the Prime Minister finished for him; ‘and then you came here.’ 

The last time he’d seen Merlin and Arthur, they’d been two lost boys with only each other to hold onto in terrifying times. Now there was one boy lost without the other, and other lost completely. Who would hold them now? Leaving Merlin in the capable and cooing hands of his assistant, who he was certain would ply the thin looking child with more chocolate biscuits then humanely possible, he summoned up the boys’ file to his office. 

()()()

‘Good evening, is this the Hamilton residence?’ 

‘Yeah, who’s speaking?’ 

‘My name is David Cameron, Mrs Hamilton, and I’m just calling to say that we found your son, Merlin, well rather, he found us…’ 

‘But Merlin’s at home with us.’

‘I’m afraid that’s not quite correct, as he’s currently sat in the lobby of Downing Street…’  
‘No he aint. He’s at home, eating his tea with ‘is family. I can see him, right now!’ 

‘I’m afraid you can’t, Mrs Hamilton, unless there’s another child called Merlin in your street, and perhaps I have the wrong number…’

‘You tryin' to be funny? You think I’m lying, don’t ya? You think I’m lying about my own son! Filthy politians, I should set the dog on ya!’

‘Really, I meant no offence, Mrs Hamilton!’ 

‘You’re all the same, bleedin rich folk! Think you can lord it over us commoners like you’re all Gods or something! Tell you what, you keep the boy; see how much trouble he causes you! Won’t be sticking your nose in then, will ya?’ 

‘Mrs Hamilton, please…’

She'd hung up before he’d even finished speaking. Now, he wasn’t one to judge, but…well, there was definetly work to be done in that kind of family. No wonder Arthur had run away. So, for the time being, it looked like Merlin would be stuck with him. Not that the child would be willing to leave without his friend anyway, but still. It would've been nice for the boy's first visit to Downing Street to be voluntary at least. 

Taking a deep breath, he strode back into the lobby to sit beside a much calmer looking Merlin, who was munching on a chocolate biscuit. ‘So, have you found him yet?’ was his first question. ‘Er, no, not yet, but I have spoken to your foster parents, and they think’ (putting it extremely lightly) ‘that you should stay here until we find him, would that be ok?’ 

Merlin gave him that look again; ‘Well, of course I’m staying here. I’m going to help find him’. ‘Look Merlin, London is a very big place; do you have any idea at all where Arthur could’ve gone, is there anywhere he said he wanted to visit, or maybe he said something when you were fighting?’ Merlin’s shoulders drooped a little when he mentioned the argument and he glanced up guiltily before saying sadly ‘he went to find his mother’. 

‘His mother?’ 

‘Yes. He said something mean about mummy and daddy, so I told him that at least they were real, and he said what did I mean, so I said that he didn’t even have a mother, and that I didn’t have a father but it was ok, and he said that it wasn’t ok, and then he shouted that he was going to find her and prove it…’ 

Arthur’s mother had been dead for 7 years. Merlin’s father had been missing for just as long. He’d read about them in their file before calling the Hamiltons.   
‘Does Arthur know where his mother used to live?’ Huge, sad eyes turned on him;  
‘He doesn’t have a clue’ and the chocolate biscuit fell to the floor with a thud. 

()()()

He wasn’t going to do it. He absolutely, 100% was not going to do it. He was adamant that…Ok, he was going to do it. He hated doing it. He really, really hated it. ‘Sophia…’ the tell tale clicking of heels scuttled up beside him; ‘bring him in’  
‘Yes, sir’ she replied with an incredibly professional and not at all gleeful smirk. 

‘Right, Merlin’ he dictated to the child now sat on the edge of his desk, dangling feet making dull thumps against the varnished wood; ‘we’ve decided we need some help if we want to find Arthur quickly, so we are going to bring in a very clever detective who will hopefully lead us right to him.’ Merlin nodded. ‘The thing is though, this detective might be a bit…’ oh god, how on earth did he describe Sherlock Holmes? ‘…eccentric, and um…well he might be a bit mean, but he doesn’t mean it, he just does that when he’s thinking, so…’   
‘That’s ok, Arthur’s mean when he’s thinking too; that’s why I tell him not do it too often’ Merlin mumbled with a watery smile. 

Sherlock Holmes didn’t walk through the doors of Downing Street. He strode. His coat tail flapped dangerously behind him, and his scarf bounced as he pushed open both doors and immediately seated himself opposite the Prime Minister and Merlin; giving them both a brief glance over before looking behind him and sighing. ‘Sorry about John, Prime Minister, he’s feeling a little slow today, aren’t you, Doctor?’ he called back to the shorter man entering the room, arms swinging moodily at his sides as he glared at the detective before he too took his seat. ‘Well, I’m very sorry Sherlock, but if I’m not mistaken, it is quite late and I am quite tired. 3 am gun practice will do that a person…’   
‘Ehem!’ Both men glanced guiltily around at the Prime Minister, before realising in turn that it was not him who had interrupted their spat, but the child sat stubbornly in front of him. Merlin hopped off the desk and quickly strode towards Sherlock until he reached eye level and said simply ‘Can you find my friend?’ 

Sherlock’s friend huffed slightly in amusement at the boy before leaning around the detective and chuckling ‘I’m assuming you’re Merlin?’ The boy nodded before returning his attention to Sherlock, his mouth turning down a little when the man did not respond immediately, choosing instead to glance around the room with disinterest. John seemed to sigh slightly before giving Sherlock a crafty jab in the ribs, prompting him to announce ‘of course I can. There was no need to…’ he trailed off, looking slightly disconcerted at the child in front of him. Merlin’s face had lit up so brightly he was practically glowing, tiny teeth gleaming as he grinned at the Detective before gleefully glancing round to the Prime Minister and hopping back onto the desk.   
Sherlock cleared his throat awkwardly as Merlin practically bounced on the desk top and continued; ‘Well, it’s hardly a taxing case, is it? Missing child? I’ll need to know a bit more about him, of course; I’m assuming you have records?’   
‘Er…yes, of course we have records. Sophia will just get them now…’  
‘And I’ll also need to speak to the parents, but, actually, I might let John do that; he’s better with people, apparently.’ ‘You made a man cry at the last crime scene…’ ‘Yes but this isn’t a crime scene, is it? There’s no body yet.’   
‘Sherlock, there isn’t going to be a body!’ And they wonder why people think they’re a couple…   
‘There might be, you read the news, Prime Minister. You know better than most that missing children don’t always come back…’ 

The Prime Minister’s mug shattered suddenly on his desk. As in, it literally smashed into large pieces on the desk, no warning, the handle flinging itself rapidly towards Sherlock’s leg whilst the words ‘world’s best uncle’ crumbled into a broken heap. All three men flinched back at the noise; glancing round in shock, but Merlin simply sat there, arms crossed angrily across his chest ‘He IS going to come back and you’re going to find him!’ 

John’s eyebrows disappeared beneath his hairline as Sherlock shifted slightly in his seat. ‘Right then…’ The Prime Minister tried cheerily, ‘Let’s get on with it.’

Sherlock’s first job apparently, was to pull every sheet of paper out of Arthur’s folder, fling them across a table and disappear to get a cup of tea. For half an hour. With the sheets still on the table. When he returned, he began leaf through them all at great speed, occasionally mumbling words like ‘typical’ and ‘stupid’ and ‘careless’ whilst John looked on in puzzled bemusement. Now, whilst his housekeeper might disagree, the Prime Minister did actually like to keep his office quite tidy, but it was rather difficult with a six foot, gangly detective leaping about like a deranged lemur, leaving a trail of destruction everywhere he went. It was rather like having a very enthusiastic puppy, an old and patient Labrador and a nervously flapping owlet all fluttering around his office at the same time, whilst he just sat there, amidst all the chaos, tapping his foot absently, as if these sorts of things happened everyday. And then he thanked God that they didn’t. 

His second job involved asking Merlin a series of horrible and hurtful questions such as ‘So what was the last thing he said before you brutally ruined his childhood?’ and ‘if you knew his mother was dead, why didn’t you try to stop him before he ran way?’ and ‘Do you make a habit of lying to your parents and belittling your friends?’ John had given up trying to make him behave somewhere around ‘there’s nothing wrong with suspecting the boy, he could be a trained killer for all we know!’

But finally, finally they left. Sherlock had sped off to go and snoop around the Garden Centre, which would obviously be locked but the Prime Minister seemed to be turning a blind eye to a great many things that night, why not add trespassing and theft to the list? John had gone round to the Hamiltons to try and placate a very angry and aggressive sounding Mr Hamilton who had threatened to ‘strangle Sherlock with his own bloody scarf’ after the brief conversation he’d had with the detective.

Merlin, of course, had physically exhausted himself, and was sleeping curled up on one the sofas lining the room, a blanket thrown roughly over his shoulders. David was just about to wake him when Percy walked in and hefted him up into his arms, carrying him to the flat upstairs where someone had obviously made up a bed for the boy. 

It was roughly around 2 in the morning when the doorbell rang. He heard the butler get up to answer it and heard the crystal clear arrogance of Sherlock’s return, and then he heard another voice. ‘Why won’t you let me go? I’m…I’m the King of Camelot, you know, and I demand to see the Prime Minister! I’m being held here against my will, and it’s not fair!’ Leaping to his feet, the Politian darted out of his office, (because let’s face it, who actually has time for sleep these days?) and sprinted barefoot downstairs into the lobby. A tall man in a long coat and grey hair had accompanied Sherlock this time, and appeared to be restraining a squirming Arthur from legging it up the stairs, whilst the detective simply looked on, bored.  
‘Arthur!’ The boy stopped struggling then and glanced up at the Prime Minister in confusion. ‘Mr Cameron, why am I here? I want to go home…’

‘ARTHUUUUR!’ 

Several pairs of eyes glanced upwards, and the Prime Minister could’ve sworn the building gave a little shudder at the volume of the noise.  
Before anyone could explain, Merlin appeared wild eyed and manic at the top of the stairs, hair sticking up on end, practically buzzing with hope as he hurled himself down the flight, tripping and stumbling as he went, a mad, frantic blur as he threw himself into Arthur’s arms. The other boy staggered back at the initial weight, obviously trying to catch a glimpse of the sobbing wreck that had forced itself upon him, before obvious realisation suddenly spread across his face and he gripped back with all his might. 

This. This was why he loved his job. At times it was the worst sodding place in the world, and he hated it with a burning fiery passion, but seeing these two tiny souls reunited in the lobby of the most famous house in Britain, and knowing with a thrill of pride that it was because of him, because these boys trusted him, because without him they might not have found each other…yeah, his job’s alright sometimes. Mad, stupid and boring, of course, but it’s alright. 

Merlin had now taken to banging his forehead lightly against Arthur’s already damp shoulder, mumbling ‘you’re a prat, a huge, enormous, stupid, annoying prat, and I hate you, I hate you…’ but wasn't showing any signs at all of letting go. Arthur, in return, wasn’t saying anything, but seemed to be grinning fondly into the back of Merlin’s neck, patting his back to comfort him. Sherlock’s friend was smiling at the boys, and even the man himself gave an uncharacteristic quirk of the lips before schooling his expression back into one of supreme detachment. It was incredible endearing to watch. Those dreaded paternal instincts returned with a jolt, and the Politian frowned at the unfamiliar urge to hug the boys and never let go.  
Not something was used to experiencing, given that he spends most of his days in large offices with large men and their large egos. And their very large briefcases. 

The Prime Minister knelt down to the boys’ height and lightly tapped Arthur on the shoulder, as of the two of them, he seemed to be more in control of the situation; ‘Arthur, we do have some questions we’d like to ask you, if that’s ok? Would you rather we wait til morning or…?’ Arthur’s face popped up from around Merlin’s dark mess of hair and he glanced anxiously at the boy before saying ‘no, it’s ok. I’ll do it now’. 

()()() 

Then there had been a bit of confusion as to how to manoeuvre the boys out of the lobby, without disturbing Merlin, who clearly wasn’t going to be leaving Arthur any time soon, but Percy quickly solved that by scooping both boys up and carrying them upstairs to the room Merlin had been using, before dumping them on the bed. Arthur had carefully tried to detach Merlin’s fingers from around his neck to talk to them, but it seemed even he wasn’t able to separate them, so settled for sitting propped up against a mountain of pillows, with Merlin curled up at his side, his head cushioned by Arthur’s lap.   
It was a very intimate and sweet gesture, one the Prime Minister felt almost impolite watching, but it was another necessary evil in the fight for answers. Oh good Lord, he was turning into a poet. He’d be quoting Shakespeare in his speeches next, identifying the nation’s problems by level of heartbreak in comparison to level of sorrow. He needed some more coffee.

The grey haired man, Lestrade, he said his name was, dropped into a chair by the door, whilst the Prime Minister perched on the edge of the bed, and Sherlock slouched in the door frame. John seemed to have escaped his friend’s clutches for an evening, and David mentally applauded his conviction. He wouldn’t want to be the one disappointing Sherlock Holmes of an evening. ‘So, Merlin’s only told us a bit of what happened, from the fight you two had…’ Merlin gave a whimper and buried his face in Arthur’s jumper; ‘to you initially running away. Can you tell us what happened next?’ 

The boy gave a big sigh, and said, not with sadness, but disappointment, as if he’d let them all down by not completing his brave little quest; ‘I just wanted to find her. My mother. No one ever told me what happened to her, or father and I just thought that, maybe, if I found her, she would want to look after me, and then the Hamiltons wouldn’t have to anymore.’ 

A sudden thought seemed to cross him ‘I was gonna take Merlin too! I promise! I wouldn’t have gone to live with her if she didn’t take him too!’ Merlin looked up at Arthur worriedly, before wrapped his small fingers around Arthur’s flailing hand, almost as a reflex to calm him down. The boy himself didn’t seem particularly concerned about this, as if it was simply common knowledge that where Arthur goes, Merlin goes, and why didn’t everyone know that?  
‘Anyway, so I didn’t actually know where she lived, but I remember hearing the first lady that looked after us say something about living in a castle with servants, and well, that’s why Merlin’s my servant, and I’m the King, and we’d learnt about Buckingham Palace in school so I thought, I should go there and…and I didn’t know where Buckingham Place was. I didn’t want to ask anyone, and the signs were all too high up for me to read, so I just sort of walked around a bit. Someone grabbed my arm and asked me where my mummy was, and I thought it might have been mummy making fun of me and trying to drag me home so I ran away from them…and then I got scared and wanted to go home because it was really dark and I didn’t know where I was and I wanted Merlin and I couldn’t find anyone…’ at this Merlin leapt up and flung his arms around Arthur’s neck, and the Prime Minister was yet again reminded of the boys in hospital when he went back to visit them for the second time.   
Being there to comfort each other seemed to come naturally, as if they’d never learnt to expect anyone else to do it. Merlin turned to whisper something softly in Arthur’s ear, and whatever it was gave him a second burst of courage as he carried on; ‘and then I was just about to get on a bus, to ask the bus driver if he could take me home when Mr Lestrade found me and asked me if I was Arthur Pendragon, and I said yes, and then he picked me up and brought me here. And then Sherlock called me stupid so I kicked him.’ 

Merlin suddenly started giggling into Arthur’s neck, making everyone jump, and pulled back slightly to declare proudly; ‘when he was mean to me, I made a mug break and threw it at him!’ Both boys were laughing then, and even Sherlock gave a surprising snort of amusement, despite the joke being turned on him. The Prime Minister couldn’t ever recall the man even smiling, or being anything but cool and distant, so tonight was definetly a night of miracles. ‘But’ Arthur began, once Merlin had settled back down into his lap again, clinging to one arm like a limpet ‘why is Merlin here? How did he get here?’ 

The fact that this question was directed towards the adults in the room gave a true testament to how truly exhausted Merlin was, as he curled up tighter against Arthur’s side.  
‘Well, we think he did the same as you, except he actually knew what he was looking for. When he found out that you’d gone, he set out looking for you, and when he couldn’t find you, he came straight to Downing Street, burst through the doors and demanded that I find you. And then he demanded that Sherlock find you, when I couldn’t’ the Prime Minister smiled. 

‘And then I simply asked around, used some of Mycroft’s CCTV…’ Sherlock glanced distastefully at Lestrade who gave an indulgent smile at the name, ‘and tracked his movements. Called up the least useless man on the Police Force, and hey presto, one found child, one tired John, and one happy Prime Minister, and well, not quite home in time for tea, but in time for an early breakfast perhaps?’ he finished. 

Arthur looked frankly baffled at the rapid monologue spewing out of Sherlock’s mouth before frowning and saying ‘ok, whatever, I’m really tired now, and I think Merlin is too. Please can we go to sleep now?’ ‘Of course you can, but we do have a few more things to discuss in the morning Arthur, with you and Merlin.’ The boy nodded sleepily, before sinking down, fully clothed, until he was curled protectively around an already unconscious Merlin, and his eyelids fluttered shut.

The next morning, was, well, a bit of a blur really. Sherlock and Lestrade had scuttled off rather quickly the night before, muttering to themselves about ‘jam’ and ‘umbrellas’ and ‘late night shopping’ and left it up to the Prime Minister to sort out a reasonable fee for them, so there was that; and then his mother in law had phoned to say that his choice of Petunia looked awful next to her Violet Pansies and he would have to take it back for her, and then there had been a rather baffling moment in which Merlin had been found rummaging around the Cabinet Room, claiming to have left his chocolate biscuit there, and when he did not find it, he demanded, in a terrifyingly adult tone that he deserved compensation, with interest. He’d later skipped away with two whole packets of biscuits, one for him, and one for Arthur, of course. 

The Prime Minister ended up owing several people several raises that morning, including Sophia, who had taken great care to block out his calls whilst he found the boys somewhere else to stay. Downing Street was not a good place for children. Come to think of it, it wasn’t a very good place for adults either; there were too many rooms, too many offices, too many people, and far too much coffee being drunk. By mid-morning he’d made a long list of all the people that could help. By lunchtime, it had shrunk to just two. The first was a kindly old woman called Alice, who’d spent her life dedicated to the care of young children, but had recently undergone a very traumatic hip operation, didn’t you know, where the young whippersnappers at the desk had given her a gown that was far too small, and had revealed far too much to the gentlemen in the bed by the door. He’d then been reprimanded by this kindly old woman for spending too much time on road works and council estates, and not enough work on the things that matter. Such as hospital gown sizes, apparently. 

The second was another group home for foster children, but they would only be able to take them on for a year before the home closed down. Apparently, this was also the Government’s fault, according to the owner, and that maybe they should be the ones shut down instead. Then they’d hung up the phone before he could reply. 

Everyone thinks they can do his job better than him. That’s the curse of a position in the Government. No decision is entirely your own, but you have to be the one to take the fall back. There’s always someone out there saying ‘you should’ve listened to me’, or ‘you should’ve done it my way’.   
He lowered his head into his hands. Now there was no one telling him which way to do it. These were his choices to make. The future of these boys’ depended solely on him and if he messed up they’d have to pay for it. 

‘Mr Cameron?’ He started slightly, and looked up. Arthur had slipped silently into his office, and was standing in front of him, hands clasped importantly behind his back. ‘Mr Cameron, I just wanted to say thank you for finding me last night, I’m not sure I would’ve been able to make it back by myself.’ ‘Oh’ he started awkwardly ‘well, that’s alright. It’s Merlin you should be thanking though, without him we wouldn’t have even known you’d gone’.

Arthur smiled at him, and leapt up into one of the chairs by his desk. ‘So…’ he glanced down at the scrawled list in the Prime Minister’s hand ‘are you trying to find us somewhere to stay? Percy said we wouldn’t be going back to the Hamiltons anymore…Which is good. I didn’t like them. They shouted at Merlin.’  
‘And no one but you is allowed to shout at Merlin, right?’ ‘Well, yes. But only if he does something stupid.’ David huffed out a laugh, and Arthur looked vaguely upset for a moment, at the thought of shouting at Merlin when he wasn’t being stupid, but grinned anyway.   
‘Is this who we’re going to live with then?’ He tilted his head to try and read the writing on the page. ‘A…Ali…Alice Carp…Carpenter?’ The Politian sighed sadly ‘I’m afraid not. She’s not very well at the moment, and hasn’t got time to look after any more children, she said.’ ‘Oh ok’ Arthur’s shoulders slouched. ‘What about the other name? I can’t read that one…’ ‘Well, they can’t take you either, at least not indefinitely.’   
‘Well, that’s ok! We don’t need to go there in…indefin…atley, whatever that means, we just need to go there for a bit’ he beamed eagerly at the Prime Minister, his knee jumping slightly in excitement. ‘Wouldn’t you rather find a home that you and Merlin could stay in forever? Stay with the same people, and the same friends and the same school, without moving around all the time?’   
His small chest heaved a sigh; ‘I suppose, but I don’t really mind moving around. Every time we go somewhere new, we get to go exploring and stuff, its fun. It’s like a quest!’   
‘But what if you had to leave Merlin behind at one of these places? If you go to one of these homes, they might have move one of you to a different place and you’d be split up’   
It was a low blow, and he’d be the first to admit it, but there was no plausible way to explain to a child that the only places they could stay at was being torn down because of a decision he’d made. No, he needed to find them a proper home, with a proper family. People who would take Merlin to the hospital themselves when he needed it, and who would comfort Arthur when he missed his mother, and carry them both to bed at night after they’d fallen asleep on the sofa. 

He sent Arthur away after lunch whilst he tried to figure out his next plan of attack. He wasn’t sure when exactly the boys had been given full clearance to roam around the house like they owned it, but he had no doubt in his mind that Percy would’ve had something to do with it. He’d gone upstairs to fetch a file about an hour ago and found his bodyguard on his hands and knees in a corridor, playing hide and seek with Merlin, whilst Arthur, having already been found, giggled along behind him. 

He’d known Percy for a few years now; they went out for drinks now and then, in which he’d be the only one drinking of course, and he’d even met the man’s wife. He also knew for a fact that they wanted children. But he couldn’t possibly…Could he? He pressed the intercom button on his desk; ‘Sophia, could you send Percy in for a second please?’ ‘He’s er…not actually here right now; he’s with the boys’. Of course he was. ‘Oh no, wait, Lance has gone to get him. He’ll be here in a minute, sir’ ‘Thank you’.   
Percy jogged in a few minutes later, out of breath and laughing, and looking ridiculously happy. Please, the Prime Minister thought, please let this one work. 

Merlin and Arthur stood outside the door of Mr Cameron’s office, nervously clutching hands and pressing their ears up against the wooden panel. Mr Cameron’s assistant Sophia giggled at them from behind her desk. They, of course, knew exactly what would be happening inside the room, and had done since the moment they were caught playing hide and seek in the corridor. Mr Cameron wanted Percy to look after them for a bit. But that was ok; he seemed much nicer than the Hamiltons, and he was a lot more fun to play with than Nimueh, the lady who’d first looked after them. She seemed to spend all her time talking about their parents and how they’d left them all alone, but they were only little, so they didn’t really care back then. Arthur looked at Merlin carefully, at his white-knuckle grip on Arthur’s hand, and his silly big ears twitching as he listened. He didn’t want to go with Percy, if he couldn’t take Merlin too. Merlin made everything go away. If someone shouted at him, he’d make his eyes go all sparkly, and funny things would happen to them, and Arthur would know that he did it just for him. He’d thought that, yesterday, he would be stuck in the darkness forever, and he’d never see Merlin again, and he wouldn’t get a chance to say sorry. So he did it then. He tugged on Merlin’s arm until the other boy looked at him and he whispered it into his ear. Merlin squeezed his hand and said it too, and then he threw his arms around his neck again.   
That was another reason why he loved Merlin; he gave really good hugs, especially when someone needed it. Not that he’d ever seen Merlin give anyone else a hug but him, but he’d like that think that he would anyway. 

Suddenly there was noise from inside the room, and they both jolted away from the door, but their legs got all tangled and muddled up and both of them ended up falling over onto the carpet in a heap.   
Arthur looked up again a moment later, from underneath Merlin’s elbow, to find the Prime Minister and Percy laughing at them from the doorway. ‘This is all your fault, Merlin’ ‘No it’s not! You have bigger feet than me, which makes it your fault!’ Merlin’s voice was muffled and tickly as he spoke into Arthur’s shoulder blade. ‘Yes, but you’ve got bigger ears!’ ‘So?! They didn’t make us fall over! You did!’ 

Then Percy wrapped a hand around Arthur’s arm to pull him upright and, crouched down in front of him. ‘Arthur, I was wondering if I could talk to…’ ‘No, no, no wait for me!’ Merlin suddenly scrambled up, using the sleeves of Arthur’s jumped to hoist himself towards them. Percy smiled; ‘Ok, both of you. Now, the Prime Minister and I have been discussing where you should go after you’ve left Downing Street, because you’ve both said that you didn’t want to go back to the Hamiltons, is that right?’ They nodded solemnly. ‘Good. So we’ve been thinking about, and well, we were wondering whether you’d like to come and stay with me and my wife for a while? And if you really like it there, maybe live there with us?’ Merlin and Arthur glanced towards each other, almost nervously, and then Arthur straightened his back and said ‘I think we’d like that very much’ in a most diplomatic tone. Merlin of course, just beamed at them, grabbing at Arthur’s hand and bobbing up and down in excitement. 

()()()

Hmmm. Hmmm seemed a very good term, he felt, to describe his precise feelings towards the 40ft inflatable Voldemort leering down at them, the Queen parachuting into the Olympic Stadium and the army of Mary Poppins’ invading the main stage, giant umbrella’s at the helm. His wife had just leant across the row to ask him what he thought, her eyes still shining with amusement at the revolving Queen of Hearts yodelling across the audience. Well. He couldn’t very well say what he really thought now, could he? ‘It was absolutely marvellous, darling’ (and I wish I’d been a part of it). It was true, Boyle had originally wanted both him and the Queen to be the lucky two jumping out of a plane, but apparently, due to a lot of ‘bad press’ recently, it had been decided that, to really drive the home the image of a Prime Minister who was 100% committed to his work, he would be given no time left for filming. He wasn’t even told what would be happening that night, and when Sophia had mentioned a set built like the Shire, he’d assumed she was joking. Well, take that Beijing. 

He’d had a marvellous night, all jealous notions aside, and couldn’t wait for the Games to begin. He’d even gotten himself a few seats saved at some of the events. He was just about to ask Percy to fetch him a drink when ‘Mr…Mr Cameron!’ ‘Mr Cameron!’ Merlin and Arthur suddenly appeared, clambering over the seats in the top box, babbling away about ‘Did you see the giant Voldemort? It was huge!’ and ‘It was Professor Lockhart in a beard!’ and ‘Did you hear the TARDIS, Mr Cameron, because we did!’ He glanced round at Percy with a smile. He’d told the Prime Minister that he was leaving them at home tonight to watch it on TV, because he didn’t want to be distracted from his duty. He smiled back before giving a ‘I really didn’t have much say in the matter’ shrug and reaching out to free Merlin’s foot from where it had gotten stuck down the back of a seat. 

Percy’s family and the boys had gotten on brilliantly, of course, and the body guard was forever strolling into his office to tell him stories of Arthur’s latest birthday party, and what had happened at Merlin’s swimming lesson, and what the boys had said to their teacher about him at school. He was particularly amused when he found out that Arthur had gotten into a shouting match with another boy who apparently ‘hated the Prime Minister because he never smiled on TV’. He had then quickly schooled his expression into a very serious and disapproving one, shaking his head and tutting. 

Although he very rarely got to actually see the boys with their new school timetables, and his job, he still tried to make an effort, and even got Sophia to send them birthday cards and little gifts, albeit slightly boring gifts, but they appreciated it all the same, and Percy was forever bringing in endless thank you letters they written him from home. The best thing of all though, is that whenever they met, they never called Prime Minister. They knew what his job was of course; but he was always Mr Cameron. To the people of England, he was the man who ran their Government, organised their taxes and wore an endless array of suits, but to Merlin and Arthur; he was the hero who found them when they were lost. He was the man who sent silly birthday presents on the wrong day because he’d forgotten about it, and didn’t mind if they laughed about it. He was the man who they could show off about to all their friends at school. And he was the man who had found them a home. 

The End.


End file.
